Beleaguered
by Cinerarium
Summary: Harry Potter is a married, beleaguered auror. He feels he's lost touch with the world. After a visit to the graveyard he decides he might be better off alone. You can make it whatever pairing you like.


_Harry Potter does not belong to me. And quite frankly never will._

A cool breeze swept over the old, je-june yet tranquil London graveyard. It lasted for a good part of Totenham St. Pale, grey tombstones lined one after another. April was a good time to visit the dead, not scorching hot nor icy cold nor boisterously windy. Harry Potter, a 21 year old auror with unruly raven locks and emerald eyes stood over an alabaster slate of stone. He was trying to remain impassive as he'd much rather not flaunt his despondency to surrounding muggles.

Contrary to popular belief Harry Potter seldom enjoyed being the center of attention. There was a faded, glossy look in his eyes, mouth twisted into a frown. He bent down and placed a cluster of peonies by the grave. Embossed in the milky white stone were the words:

'Here lies _Albus Dumbledore_ Professor, friend, headmaster, protector and mentor.'

Harry's eyes lingered on these words for another moment before he shoved his sun-baked hands into worn pockets and took his leave. Ron would always say, 'Dumbledore never got his kudos.', and he very much agreed. How often he wanted to wreak his resentment in the bloody burial ground.

Tiny, cheap shops lay in a row across the halcyon way. It always was rather saddening to visit, Dumbledore's grave by Lupin's grave by Bill's grave. 'But,' Harry mused, 'This has always been my favorite part of London.' Quiet, empty. Compared to many things Harry it seen it could even be considered aesthetic. He turned the corner, hand running through his hair absentmindedly and apparated home.

Ginny was fast asleep on the powder blue couch at their flat. Her fiery red hair dangled over the side of the cushions in a mass of tangles and curls. Harry was hardly ever home. He peered down at her to see auburn eyebrows twitching with worry and winced. Guilt.

The war may have finally come to an end but there were still many dangers amidst the wizarding world. Harry being an auror made his wife worry constantly, what with having to kill every threatening dark creature in existence.

It was a right sized flat, living room, dining room, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, closets, laundry room. A rag of a blue blanket was thrown over Ginny's lower body, a tawdry romance novel seemed to have fallen out of her hand and onto the floor. He smiled slightly, walking into the kitchen where a bowl of hot soup awaited him.

Harry sat in a dark wood chair, slurping his soup and pulled the Daily Prophet toward him. Draco Malfoy was front page as the Prophet had nothing better to do than report him falling to pieces, a kind of anathema was over him. His eyes had that lost, faded look Harry knew so well. He didn't like to think of Malfoy and his pointed face and all of the things he had lost.

Poor bloke was no longer the alpha, the impertinent, sarcastic, wealthy boy was all gone. Left in place was a weak, poor, beleaguered man. To think all those years his father had lied and in the end Malfoy Jr. was threatened. Not his dad. It took a long time to forgive his sins but Harry did. Sometimes he really wished he could help. But Ginny, Ginny and the Weaslys they hadn't gotten over a four year old grudge. Couldn't get passed it.

And Harry the one whom the insults were mostly directed could.

It only seemed natural for him to feel a bit responsible for Malfoy's problems. After all, he had been so angry he's accused and accused, taken it all away. As a witness. He knew Malfoy wasn't completely alright. Knew his was still afraid. Moving on. A sudden flashback of Narcissa Malfoy being torn apart from the inside out, limb from limb entered his mind. Draco weeping. War. Blood. Screaming.

Harry pushed his soup out of the way, suddenly revolted at the thought of eating. This happened often. Could even be considered mundane. He was getting thinner. Harry took a deep breath. Perhaps the prophet hadn't been the best idea.

He pondered his wife. The wedding had been small, a bunch of unhappy people squashed into the Weaslys' backyard. No reception. No cake. Just that.

Ginny hadn't moved an inch. She was looking paler and less freckly than usual. Harry sat at her feet, staring at her, uncomfortably. Sometimes he'd admit the war wasn't entirely Voldemort's fault. Sometimes he's admit Ron and Hermione might be better off separate no matter how they loved one another. Sometimes he'd admit he only married Ginny to make her happy. He didn't remember how to love like that.

And all of the time he's admit he was better off alone.

She was better off alone.

It was beginning to cloud up and rain. Water droplets seeping into the cement ground.

Nothing seemed to take his breath away anymore. He was only sad, only angry. And he found himself fighting and losing with everyone. Even himself.

He wanted to help everyone the best he could, wanted to apologize for all the deaths, for being 'the chosen one'. Just wanted to be free.

Harry looked down at Ginny, shivering under the blue rag. He lowered his eyes, lent down and kissed her smooth forehead. Like a little sister. He felt dejected. Cold.

Empty. Open. Raw. He winced. Time to go. And he didn't even pack, just grabbed his coat and left some galleons on the coffee table, keeping in mind his vault at Gringotts. Keeping in mind Ginny was a strong woman with many people to help her. Many on her side. Keeping in mind she was better off. Keeping in mind no one would be mad. Could stay mad. And so he wrote a goodbye note. With a sincere apology. Yes, she could have the flat. It would only remind him.

He turned the knob and left but not without looking back once. "Goodbye." But it wan't there. The regret he knew he should have felt. Just empty. Open. Raw. His never ending hiatus.

Harry ignored the presence of the rain, eying the people around him, discreetly. He knew where to go first. A small apartment on Surrey Commons. He knocked. Moments later the door creaked open to divulge a blond man.

Draco Malfoy stood in ragged pajamas, face sallow, eyes raw from crying. His hair mussed.

"H-Harry Potter?" He asked, incredulous.

Harry half smiled.

"I heard you needed a shoulder to cry on." Was his laconic reply.

Malfoy stood in disbelief before nodding slowly, smiling a bit as well. Harry had loathed him at school but that didn't seem, to matter now. He took a step forward. Malfoy broke into a wider smile.

"Am I...forgiven?"

Because the things he had done in school came back to haunt him.

"I would think so."

Trying to rebuild the world. His world. One being at a time.

This made him happy.

BuBuBu

BuBuBu

Ginny woke that evening to an empty house. She saw the galleons, read the note on the coffee table and trembled. She would cry for a long time. But the next morning, out of bed she would know it was all for the better.

"Now I have seen sad surrender in my lover's eyes

I can only stand apart and sympathize

For we are always what out situations hand us

It's either sadness of euphoria."

- 1876, Billy Joel

((The "Bu" thing is there in place of :'s because I have wordpad which will delete any form of lining that is not letters when uploaded to 


End file.
